


Paved with Good Intentions

by winter4knights



Category: Persona 5
Genre: 500themes - Sensation of Loss, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Creepy Maruki, Gen, Moral Ambiguity, Obsession, Persona 5: The Royal Spoilers, What-If
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-18
Updated: 2020-09-18
Packaged: 2021-03-07 22:33:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,113
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26535163
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/winter4knights/pseuds/winter4knights
Summary: In the third semester filled with self-delusion, the phantom thieves didn’t have a chance to meet up with their Leader. Instead, their troubles are only beginning. With Joker missing, they are determined to get him back and return him to his senses. But can they make it in time before their bonds are unraveled and they lose the only connection they have left with him?
Comments: 7
Kudos: 60





	Paved with Good Intentions

**Author's Note:**

> Maruki’s Palace made me feel a lot of things. I really did like his character, which wasn’t as simple as his confidant link led you to believe. He thought he could help everyone, but oh boy. His mentality throughout that whole ordeal made me shout more than once, “What the hell, dude!” Meanwhile, Akechi was over there going, “Chill, what chill?” Loved every minute of that bonus content. 
> 
> So after finishing the game I had to wonder, what if the rest of the phantom thieves weren’t able to get into Maraki’s Palace? Because I still do not know how they got in there! Was it epic? Hell yeah. But how in the world did they guess the 'who' for the Palace? Then this fic was born from my whirlwind thoughts. Enjoy!

“ _No!_ ”

The shout is so loud, so overwhelming that it jolts something down to the depths of his soul. He starts, slowly blinking his eyes open. He doesn’t know when he had fallen asleep, and he’s even more bemused to realize he’s alone in an unfamiliar room. The walls are a pale grey, flickering with a strange blue glow that he doesn’t look too closely at, and the lighting itself seems to have been dimmed. Perhaps to allow him to rest. There’s a bed in the corner, but for some strange reason he has fallen asleep in a chair.

He rubs a hand over his face, stopping short when he realizes there is a plastic band wrapped around his wrist. It reads, ‘Akira Kurusu,’ followed by five empty zeroes where it says patient id. He stares at it, gaze blank. A patient? Where was he exactly? He takes in his clothes, which indeed do look the part. White, so very white, but at least they are comfortable to move in.

There are goosebumps on his arms, he notices distantly. A voice in the back of his mind is saying, whispering really, that these are not his clothes. He isn’t a patient. Wouldn’t he know what he’s supposed to be here for, if that were the case?

A knock at the door of his room has his heart beating out of time, stomach plummeting as someone asks, “May I come in?”

It’s a soft voice, welcoming, and somewhat familiar to his muddled mind. Yet he feels like he’s going to be sick as he stands, reaches for the door. He hesitates, hand over the handle, then takes a deep breath and lets the other person in before he loses even more courage. It’s slipping through his fingers like water, he might as well hold on to what he can. This person might even have the answers he needs.

He steps back to allow the man into the small room. Slicked back hair, white lab coat, a doctor by all accounts. His doctor. There’s something off about the man’s small smile, though. It looks strained, uncertain. Akira wonders, “Maruki-sensei?” It had to be, the similar shape of the glasses, the casual slouch to his shoulders.

“It’s good to see you up,” the man appears relieved as he closes the door behind him. Locks it for some reason. “There’s a lot we need to talk about, but first: how much do you remember?” Maruki takes the vacant black chair that Akira had awoken in and gestures for Akira to sit on the bed.

Tentatively, Akira sits. He thinks about his last memory, someone shouting - someone trying to stop him from doing something? He doesn’t recall, and the longer he dwells on it, the more his head begins to hurt. He raises his hand to rub the bridge of his nose. Another reminder that he doesn’t have his glasses here, the fake ones he always hides behind.

“I don’t know,” admits Akira, eyes on the floor rather than Maruki’s probing stare. “I can tell I was trying to do something important. To … help someone, I think. Other than that, there’s nothing but a buzzing. Like a voice, almost. What am I forgetting?” At this question, he raises his gaze to meet Maruki’s, suspicion bolstering his courage. “Do you know, sensei?”

It’s so fleeting that Akira nearly misses the downward curl of the man’s lips. He’s all professional smiles in the next heartbeat and it’s hard to gauge what it meant. “That’s a good question. What, indeed. You always try to help everyone, Kurusu-kun. Isn’t it time someone helped you?” Maruki holds out his hand, as if they’re making a new deal. “Will you let me help you this time?”

Over the course of a year, Akira had sought and depended on such deals to see him and his team through a tumultuous world that was out to get them, quite literally. Here and now, though, what did he need help with? The Metaverse was gone. It was over.

His head is aching again. He drops it into both hands and groans. He feels someone rubbing his back, an ounce of panic in Maruki’s voice as he says, “Sorry, sorry, don’t worry about it. We’ll talk about that later. Let’s talk about why you’re here.”

Akira settles, breathes out, and raises his head. “Why _am_ I here?”

A moment of worrying his lip later, Maruki admits, “You passed out. You’re not pushing yourself too hard, are you?”

Sparks of resentment curdled in his thoughts. He taps the patient id on his wrist. “I’m wearing this for a reason.” Brows furrowed, he asks, “Are you the person that admitted me? I thought you were a counselor.”

Instead of returning to the chair, Maruki sits beside him on the bed. He fiddles with his thumbs before answering, “I did admit you, yes. This is a special ward. I think this place can help you.” Akira flinches; he doesn’t know why. “Of course, that’s only if you want the help. I won’t force you. I don’t want to see you suffer either, but you are the one that makes the final choice.”

The voice buzzing in his mind gets louder, tells him this is wrong, that he shouldn’t agree in any way. He shuts it out, breathes in, and slowly breathes out. That voice lurks beneath the rippling surface of his thoughts, making him doubt. But he also thinks that he shouldn’t be able to hear it so clearly. Not when they have already put an end to everything. “What kind of help, sensei?” 

* * *

It’s a school day, but Ryuji doesn’t feel like going. Neither does anyone else from the looks on their faces. They had staked out Leblanc in the vain hope that Akira might return sometime in the night. No such luck.

Haggard, and more than ready for some shuteye, Ryuji drops his head onto the table and pretends that he doesn’t hear Akechi’s angry, persistent fingers drumming against the wood there. “Glad to know you all have my back,” he drawls in that stupid, condescending way that Ryuji knows gets under more than just his skin. Morgana, for one, lets out a faint hiss. Haru sucks in a breath. And over in the next booth, Futuba nervously clears her throat before letting out a resounding, “This isn’t getting us anywhere!”

“I agree,” chimes in Makoto with a quiet resilience that’s hard to ignore. Ready and willing to stand back up when no one else could. A rock for her friends in these tireless waves of abnormality. Nothing is normal any more. “We need to go over what we know.”

Reluctantly, Ryuji props his chin up with one hand. “Not that we know much,” he mumbles, with a pointed glare at Akechi, “since someone isn’t sharing everything.”

Akechi shrugs like he doesn’t have a care in the world, which is at odds with the tight lines around his eyes and the decidedly nasty twist to his lips. “I shared what was needed. I doubt baring my soul is going to bring back your Leader any faster.”

“How do we know you haven’t betrayed him again?” Yusuke, his voice near a whisper, rings loud and clear in the silent den of the unopened café.

Everyone stills, holding their breath. Waiting for someone to break the palpable tension building in the air. Morgana’s claws scrape against the wood, decisive, thoroughly cutting through the moment. “Well, if Akira trusted him enough to partner up with him, then that’s good enough for me. I trust him more than this guy anyway.” The cat pauses, scrunches up his nose in thought. “Besides, Akechi’s our only lead. Our ticket into the Palace even.”

Their biggest problem, Ryuji admits. They had rushed to the stadium the moment Morgana had told them about it. Only they had no way of accessing the blatant Palace before their eyes. That weird MetaNav app was back on their phones, but that didn’t help much when they lacked a name. They hadn’t known that last piece of vital information until Akechi came stumbling out, looking like he would collapse at any given minute.

“Maruki-sensei though?” Ann wonders aloud. “Are you sure?”

“Deadly,” answers Akechi sweetly, with his detective prince smile. “Let’s stop wasting time and accept that as truth already.”

Ann lets out a huff, more amused than offended. “All right, just checking. He seemed like such a nice guy.” She studies Akechi for a second longer and grins. “I guess we should know by now, nice guys aren’t always nice.”

Rolling his eyes to the ceiling, probably praying for patience, Akechi moves the conversation along with all the subtlety of a purple elephant. “Now that we know the who, we should focus on the what, the why, and the how. What we know is a) he is distorting reality as we know it for his own selfish goals.” Haru and Futuba shift in their seats. “But funnily enough, all of us are guilty of that one. But the problem is b) he’s forcing everyone to accept what he thinks will make them happy without even a chance to fight back. Do you think unearned happiness is true happiness?”

He sweeps a look across the café, considering, before returning to the conversation at hand. “The why can be assumed to stem from some deep-seated trauma of his own. He wants a world that’s his ideal and no one else’s. No doubt for a very particular reason. I’ll need more time to search his past to discover it, but it’s safe to assume that he thinks he’s doing all of us a wonderful favor.” A scoff gives way to a disgusted sneer as Akechi tells them, “I refuse handouts on principle. I am no one’s pity case.”

“And the how?” prompts Makoto, folding her arms across her chest. “How is any of this possible?”

Akechi’s face stiffens, expression shuttering. “From what I saw when Yoshizawa’s persona went berserk, the most educated guess I can make is,” he clasps his hands together, gloves pulling taut, “he has a persona too. Much like mine, and much like Kurusu’s, it has an ability that exceeds any known standard. We’ll need to be prepared for anything.”

“That settles it,” Ryuji decides, slamming his hands on the table as he stands. “We need to go into the Palace today!”

“Did you hear a word I said?” Akechi asks dryly. “We must be prepared.” He glances at each of them in challenge this time. “I doubt any of us have the funds, the equipment, or even the basic first aid supplies required to make such a trip feasible. Don’t we always leave all that to our dear Leader?”

“Except for you,” points out Makoto. “Aren’t _you_ prepared?”

“I always am,” allows Akechi with the slightest bow of his head. “But a one-man team isn’t the wisest choice for this venture.” He grimaces. “I’m going to need help.”

The admittance is enough enough to make Ryuji quietly sink back in his seat. To make him think. Rushing in alone isn’t going to get them very far. Not just Joker, they have to find Yoshizawa too. “All right,” Ryuji concedes, crossing his arms, “what’s the plan?”

Akechi begins to smile, and this time it’s terrifying. “I’m so glad you asked.” Ryuji regrets his decision already.

* * *

As soon as Maruki leaves, Akira tests the door. It’s locked. He recalls seeing Maruki take out an id card on a lanyard and scanning it against the empty wall. A click, a fleeting smile, and then the good doctor leaves him here, alone.

In the numbing confusion of his mind, he thinks everything is still weird. He’s getting a headache from thinking about it. There’s an emptiness where something should have been. ‘ _The Metaverse is gone_ ,’ he reminds himself. It’s the only solid truth he has, despite his distorted memories.

He remembers taking down Shido. The strange way the public seemed to sweep the whole thing under the rug. The God of Control, Yaldabaoth. The Holy Grail that became sentient. Falling into nothing, standing up again. Shooting a literal god in the face with the mask of a demon lord in the making. Morgana disappearing, Akechi reappearing.

Memories with blurred edges take up the majority of his thoughts after that. Everyone so happy - or is he only wishing they were that happy? It all seems so unreal, like a fantasy or a dream. Perhaps being awake is the dream? He doesn’t know anymore.

Flopping back on his bed, he closes his eyes and goes back to sleep. He could figure out what’s real later.


End file.
